


heavy

by orphan_account



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: (picture of a shrimp), (picture of edward elric), 3+1 Things, Carrying, F/M, Gen, Idiots in Love, and i love short jokes with ed, but how bout now, cuz im off right now, didnt really fuck wit me way back then, i love edwin i love it, this was originally titled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 22:11:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5682634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>three times people carry ed and one time it matters</p>
            </blockquote>





	heavy

1.

 

“Don’t pick me up.”

“Wha-you can’t walk.” Al hooks an arm under Ed’s legs.

“Al. Please. I’m never going to be able to live it down.”

“You have a _stab wound_ in your _stomach_.”

“Not my legs, innit? Put me down.” Ed pitches forward and Al’s sigh nearly rattles his armor.

“Brother.” Its so exasperated that Ed relents, lets his head fall back and _thunk_ against hard metal. “You’re really dumb, sometimes. Whoever called you a genius in the first place?”

“Think it was you.”

“Then _I’m_ the dumb one,” Al laments, “went straight to your head.”

Ed grunts. His perch isn’t comfortable, rather, it's stiff and clangs with each of Al’s steps up the stairs, digging painfully into the knobs of his spine.

Nevertheless, he’s always slept well after a battle, no matter where.

It’s still dark when he wakes up propped against pillows instead of unyielding metal. His side _hurts_ , the onset of pain after endorphin-induced numbness near paralyzing, but then again, he’s lost limbs.

“He let you carry him?” _Winry._ Ed shuts his eyes again.

“Not really,” Al responds, “I kind of had to make him. I’m afraid to let him sleep, though, he’s lost a lot of blood…”

“The doctor said he’s healing fine. But I don’t know, he let you _carry_ him?”

Al’s laugh is hollow, brittle.

“Maybe he’s finally figuring out he doesn’t have to do everything by himself.”

Ed huffs, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and nearly falling face-first into Al’s armor.

“Or not.” Winry seethes.

“God _dammit,_ Brother!”

  


2.

 

“They _come off_ ,” Ed emphasizes, pokes at the junction of his automail arm to his shoulder. “The one for my leg, too, wanna see?” Roy steps in before Ed can tug his pants down and expose Riza to much more than she’d signed up for.

“She doesn’t,” Roy hoists Ed up off the bar stool and watches as he falls on his ass, disoriented. “And who the fuck gave you alcohol?”

“Hughes told me not to tell.” Ed blinks. “And he told me to have one.”

“One _what_ ?” Roy snorts. “One _bottle_?”

Ed shrugs.

“Go home.”

Riza clears her throat. “He can barely walk, sir.”

“Not _my_ fault he's a lightweight.”

“He's sixteen.”

“Not _my_ fault he gets off on breaking the law.”

Ed raises a hand from the floor. “That's true.”

“Think of how it'll look if your subordinate is found wandering the streets _plastered_.”

Roy opens his mouth but Riza lifts an eyebrow.

“He nearly pulled his pants down for _me_ -” she starts, but Roy waves her off and takes another swig of his drink.

“Can you stand?” He asks, and Ed looks around before pointing at himself.

“I wouldn't be on the floor if I could.”

“Shut up. You're drunk. Drunk people aren't allowed to _sass_ me.”

“Guess you're going to have to carry him, sir.” Riza says.

“Oh no,” Ed interjects, shakes his head like a wet dog, “I don't get carried.”

“I could roll him,” Roy taps his chin, “or set the soles of his shoes on fire. Bet that'll make him run.”

“Sir.”

“ _Come on-”_

Riza shrugs, turning away from him, and Roy knows enough about body language to pick up on her cold shoulder.

“For fuck’s- _fine._ ”

“I didn't agree to this.” Ed crosses his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, well, neither did I.” Roy mutters. “Get up, already.”

“Can’t stand.”

There’s something akin to a snort that comes from Riza’s general direction.

“Then fucking _stay there-_ okay, Lieutenant, I’m _kidding_ \- Fullmetal, grab onto my arm or something. I’m _not_ carrying you.”

“ _Good._ ” Ed tugs on Roy’s sleeve, allows himself to be pulled up with minimal griping until he’s leaning heavily on Roy’s shoulder.

“Okay, now, one foot in front of the other.”

“I-” Ed stops, looks down. “I only have one foot.”

“What the fuck are you-oh. _Oh_ , Fullmetal, please-” Roy looks at Riza for support as Ed’s eyes well up, dripping fat, crocodile tears over the bridge of his nose and onto his cloak. “He’s _crying_ , now, I don’t have the training for this!”

Ed wails, loud and raucous in Roy’s ear.

“Ouch, Fullmet- _Edward_ , stop crying,” Roy pleads, pats him on the back and fights to keep him upright. “You-you’ve got two feet. Beautiful feet! Winry made you one of them! Pretty Winry!”

Riza isn’t even trying to hide her laughter anymore, her shoulders shaking with each of Roy’s attempts.

Ed continues to howl.

“Let’s get you back to your room, huh? Nice, warm bed?” Roy smiles at Ed as cheerfully as he can manage, until it hurts his cheeks and Ed’s sobs subside into weak sniffling.

“I’m tired.”

“Me too- _Edward no_ -”

“Edward yes,” He mumbles, drops his head onto Roy’s shoulder and lets out a snore loud enough to rival his bawling.

“Lieutenant, I’m begging you.”

“I’ll get his legs.”

 

***

 

Riza had left him once they’d reached the Elrics’ room, claiming that she’s ‘off-the-clock’ and that this was Roy’s job in the first place, but she’d smiled at him warmer than usual on her way out.

Al looks about as surprised as a suit of armor can when Roy knocks on the door, Ed tucked securely against his chest and snoring obnoxiously loud.

“What happened?” Al hisses, panicked. “He got in a fight again?”

“Drunk.” Roy dumps the diminutive alchemist onto a bed and rolls his eyes as Ed wiggles to get comfortable. “He’s really, really drunk.”

Ed sighs, sleep-heavy and content. Roy catches the glint of automail where Ed’s cloak slips off his shoulder.

“Thank you for bringing him back.” Al tilts forward, a timid bow.

Roy shakes his head and turns to leave.

“Just-tell him he has nice legs tomorrow morning, will you?”

“Um-”

“Goodnight, Alphonse.”

“Goodnight, Colonel.”

 

3.

 

They’ve been walking for hours, sloshing through blood and weaving between the contents of Gluttony’s bottomless stomach. Ling’s still got a skip in his step that makes Ed _ache_ to trip him.

He feels his head start to spin when they’re approaching what has to be the sixth hour, feels nausea burn the bottom of his throat, and he’s retching, grimacing as blood splashes his chin and leaves flecks over his cheeks.

“Oi, Ed? You alright?”

Ed tilts his head back up and glares at Ling best he can before doubling over again.

“Ed!”

There’s a hand on his back and another tugging Ed’s hair out of his face, solid and still until Ed’s breathing steadies and he stands, wiping his mouth.

“Gross,” Ling comments, ripping off a swath of his shirt and tossing it at Ed. “There’s some at the corner of your mouth. Can you keep walking?”

“Obviously.” Ed pitches forward when he tries, catching himself on the remnants of a car.

“You’re funny.” Ling slings one of Ed’s arms around his neck and kicks Ed in the shin when he struggles. “I’m feeling fine, so I’ll carry you!”

“What? No,” Ed wiggles but grips onto Ling’s shoulders when he veers close to falling. “I _can_ walk, just give me five minutes.”

“Just get on my back, it’ll be a lot faster- _Ed._ ”

Ed’s grappling for the car he’d been leaning on, trying to wrangle himself out of Ling’s unfairly strong hold.

“We’re never going to get out of here, at this rate.” Ed stops. “I swear I’ll put you down as soon as you’re sure you won't throw up again.”

“I don’t get carried,” Ed mutters, climbing onto Ling’s back, “I _don’t_.”

“Okay. Hold on.”

It’s disgustingly muggy wherever they are, the sharp, twinging scent of blood clinging to _everything_ and making him sweat, sticking the front of his shirt to the back of Ling’s. Ling’s hair brushes the tip of his nose and he fights not to sneeze, lest Ling drop him.

Ling chatters aimlessly, telling him about Xing and Lan Fan and Fu as he walks, shifting his hold on Ed’s legs every so often and settling Ed further against his back.

“Feeling better?”

Ed opens his mouth, poised to retort and tell Ling he’s full of shit because he thought Ed needed to rest in the first place, but he notices the queasy twist in his stomach has settled, dissipated.

“Put me down.”

Ling complies, lets go of Ed’s legs and waits patiently until Ed gets his bearings.

They walk in silence until Ed forces out a ‘thank you’ that makes Ling’s face split into a wide, open smile, clapping Ed on the back and shouting “don’t mention it!” loud enough that Ed fears for his eardrums.

  


+1

 

It really isn’t that high up.

Ed’s desperate enough to climb the shelves at this point, and he’s a mite disappointed in himself that he’s been bested by a cookie jar on the top shelf of Granny Pinako’s pantry after having fought _Homunculi_ , dammit.

He’s got a foot lodged between two heavy sacks of flour and another positioned to get him just high enough, come _on_ -

“Ed, ready for tune ups-what the _fuck_?”

Ed starts, makes a final, mad grab for the jar, and he’s falling, tipping backwards.

 _This is it,_ Ed thinks as he’s plummeting, _Screw metal limbs_ , _heavy fuckers_.

“Shit, you weigh a lot more than you look,” Winry catches him and Ed’s back connects solidly with her front, the playback of his life stopping abruptly. Ed blinks, feels his face heat at Winry’s arms holding him up, one at his back and one under his legs.

“How-”

Winry’s knees buckle and Ed’s temple knocks hard against a bony elbow.

“I hope I don’t remember this,” he mutters, squinting blearily at Winry before his vision cuts.

 

***

 

“Morning.”

Winry’s face peers over the arm of the couch, upside down but sporting a smirk so amused it’d be impossible to misconstrue.

“Remember anything?”

“No.”

“Liar.” Winry’s grinning now, flashing teeth and creasing the corners of her eyes. “You’re blushing.”

“Wha-no, I’m not.”

“Yeah.” Ed nearly jumps out of his skin when Winry’s palm settles flat against his forehead, calloused and cool-yeah, he’s blushing. “You are.”

“Shut the-it’s because you’re too close!” Ed shakes his head and Winry moves her hand, presses her lips together like she’s trying not to laugh. “Fix my arm up, won’t you?” He mutters and turns his face away from her. Winry’s sigh has a different note to it, something less exasperated and more-well, Ed’s not sure _what_ it is but it’s _definitely_ not helping to quell the slow transition of his face from red to puce.

Winry works on him in silence; Ed tries hard not to think about how much he hates the barrier of her gloves when her fingers touch his shoulder, innocent, and there’s guilt pooling sick and warm at the pit of his stomach.

“I’m gonna connect the nerves.” Ed nods, and then Winry’s doing something new, slipping her palm into his left one, and _damn those gloves_ , Ed’s thinking, as Winry smoothes her thumb over his knuckles. “One, two-”

There’s the telltale _click_ and Ed feels pain spark hard behind his eyelids, squeezing Winry’s hand tight and hoping he doesn’t break her fingers, and it’s over, throbbing just barely and sending shocks through his spine as he familiarizes himself with his new limb.

“Right.” Winry clears her throat and gently pries Ed’s hand off her own. “Let’s do your leg.”

“Um.” Ed meets Winry’s eyes, lets his head fall back and stares hard at the ceiling until she’s calling his name, tugging him out of his own head.

“Spit it out, will you? I’ve got other customers, too.”

Ed covers his face with his hands.

“It didn’t hurt as badly when you held my hand.”

It’s all in one breath, rushed and muddled. Winry raises her eyebrows.

“You want me to hold your hand?”

“That’s not what I-”

“You just had to ask, idiot.”

Her palm rests warm against Ed’s this time, free of a bothersome glove, and Ed counts the seconds where it’s just the simple touch of her skin against his before she’s hitching the automail into place and Ed’s yelling loud enough that Al’s skittering into the room.

“Winry! Brother, what’s-” Al’s gaze catches on their hands, and _oh_ , if a suit of armor could grin.

  
  
  



End file.
